Curlew Champion, master archer, has always known his destiny. With his cousin, Heron Scarlet, he will become a guardian of Sherwood Forest and further his people’s fight against Norman Tyranny. But the third member of the triad is still to be revealed, the woman who will complete the magical circle and, perhaps, answer the longing in Curlew’s heart.
His eyes flashed silver fire. Beautiful eyes they were, full of bright intelligence and, she thought, more than a hint of magic. Aye, but he was beautiful withal, from that mane of chestnut brown hair to those wide shoulders, those narrow hips, and the glorious endowment with which she had become so well acquainted last night. She might never look enough.
“I am a steward of Sherwood,” he told her, “a guardian—that was truth.”
She nodded. Had he told her he was a hobgoblin, she would have accepted it. “A lord of Sherwood.”
His step faltered. They both stopped walking and faced one another.
As if he could not help himself, he reached out and brushed the hair from her shoulder. His fingers lingered, and everything in her leaped toward his touch.
“You must return to Nottingham, you know,” he told her almost regretfully. “You cannot stay here.”
“I will not marry that hulking, stinking brute.”
His lips twitched. “You said he would not take you ruined. Lady, you are most surely ruined.”
“I am.” She fought the desire to lean up and press her lips to his. She craved the taste of him, burned into her last night.
“Then what need you fear?”
Being away from you, her heart cried, though she did not say it. Not being able to watch the light dance in your eyes. Not being at liberty to reach for your hand.
She could not live so.
“Surely,” she proposed, “folk flee to Sherwood every day and seek refuge. My Da says that is whence half the outlaws come.”
“Then why not me?”
“Because you have someone fretting over you, and he is not a man I would have for an enemy.”
“He is already your enemy, so it seems. You stand on opposite sides of the King’s law.”
“But I would not give him the cause of his daughter’s virtue over which to contest me.”
“Too late,” she reminded him blithely. “You should have thought of that last night.”
“I did not know who you were, last night.” But a spark of mischief appeared in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched again.
“We can go round and round it, or you can take me to Oakham and give me breakfast. I am perished.”
“Aye?” He quirked a brow. “And will you partake of the King’s deer?”
Available 8/8/14 through Amazon or The Wild Rose Press!